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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132041">The Truth in the Lies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT'>Jak_the_ATAT</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Duty (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1st person, Adler doesn't deserve the shit I give him, Anxiety, BUT THERE ARE GOOD THINGS IN HERE TOO, Bell is a sweetheart, Bell's gender is undefined, Crying, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied abuse, Multi, Self-Insert, This is written like a love letter style idk what it's called, Whump!Adler, anxiety attack, implied abandonment, lying, please read the tags</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:22:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing worse than losing yourself. That's what happens to bad liars. Me? I know how to lie, and where to draw the line between my real life and fictional.</p><p>So what the hell did you do to me?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Russell Adler/Bell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Truth in the Lies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE READ THE TAGS</p><p>This is a story about an anxiety attack. Seriously. Don't read if that triggers you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What happens when you've been lied to all your life?</p><p>You learn to lie.</p><p>Damned well.</p><p>You know what signs give you away. You know how to hold a gaze without making it forced. You know how to self-soothe your body into thinking everything will be okay while giving no external hints. You learn to cry on command to earn trust. You learn which fascial expressions are appropriate at which times and what words would trigger a different reaction.</p><p>So many skills come out of lying.</p><p>So much satisfaction when a lie works.</p><p>You become a story teller. You lie with a lie. Sometimes you make it obvious for comedy. Most of the time you don't let anyone see beyond the base level of yourself. You're a mystery, but in a way people are drawn to you. An enigma people want to solve.</p><p>Only those that have learned to lie like it's a second language—a second identity.</p><p>When you grow up surrounds by liars and manipulators, you learn a lot about yourself. You learn that when people tell you "you can be anyone you want" there is some truth to that. You can build your own backstory. Define yourself. Determine who you are. And when you're a good liar, you never lose yourself, like bad liars or people brought up to tell the truth do. Those people brainwash themselves. You make yourself a new identity.</p><p>But the downside to being a good liar? You can't hide yourself from another good liar.</p><p>And that's where you, Bell, comes in.</p><p>You saw right through me. Without context. Without knowledge. I often wondered if part of the reason you hear me is because of my memories, but I'm reminded that Vietnam was one of the times I was most truthful to myself. There's no time to lie in war.</p><p>I don't know where your skill for lying comes from. You're truthful. You hardly lie. You regurgitate what you've been told your identity is without hesitation, even if you question it. The only time I hear you lie, it's a shit lie. You shouldn't be able to understand me.</p><p>You shouldn't make me feel this vulnerable.</p><p>And yet you do.</p><p>Now, with just us in E6 alone, you're taking your chance. You've talked to me—approached me—so carefully even my hyperactive mental guard isn't sure where to be.</p><p>"Are you feeling well?" You ask. A basic question, but the way you say it makes me question my sanity, and my abilities to hide behind my stone face.</p><p>"I'm fine," I reply. I see you're not convinced. "Just wish we could find Perseus sooner."</p><p>You nod and the conversation falls quiet. You've taken to sitting across from me at the desk, having borrowed the stool Park typically sits on. Not that it matters: Park has long gone back to her hotel room, taking Lazar with her.</p><p>But even in the silence, I feel you assessing me. My lie has bought little time against you. Or is it a truth? I'm not in pain or discomfort. Truthfully, I am doing just fine; exactly as I said.</p><p>"I think you should find yourself first," You finally say.</p><p>"What are you talking about?" Instinctively, I reach for a cigarette, only to discover I have none left.</p><p>You study me curiously before you make a move. "You're lost. You've lied so long you don't know what's true or not."</p><p>"Bullshit. I know who I am."</p><p>"So do I."</p><p>I suppose I didn't want to laugh, but the fact you think you know me at all makes me crack up. God, I need a smoke. Bad. I'm starting to lose control of my nerves, and I can't stand it.</p><p>You're not impressed by my humor, and I suppose I can't blame you. After all, you wouldn't get it. So you stand up and beckon me to follow you. "Come on, Russell. Let's go home." I take a minute to process your words. I don't like how your voice rolls my name across your tongue in a way I've never heard my name said before, sending shivers down my spine. I don't like how you refer to the run-down hotel we stay at as home, tricking part of me into thinking I could relax in the safety of a confined area far from anyone else. Hell, I don't like the way you scare me. Or rather, I scare myself with my thoughts of you.</p><p>You don't give me much of a choice. You push me towards the door until I agree to leave. We lock down the safe house together then you take the lead on the hike back to the car. You've got the keys and though I protest I'm fine, you refuse to give them to me, kindly reminding me that I could either knock you out and steal the keys, hot-wire the rental car and tell the rental company what happened, stay out here all night, or let you drive. Lovely options.</p><p>The drive is quiet. You're not one for chatter when driving, preferring that you keep your concentration where it should be. At another time, I'd want to chat with you more. Tonight, however, I'm grateful for the silence. I can run my thoughts through my life and confirm with myself that I am completely sane and that I know the difference between my real life and the life I've lied about.</p><p>So why do I feel uneasy?</p><p>By the time we reach the hotel, I can't wait to get out. I'm nauseous and can't control my shaking hands. My brain has gone from casually thinking to overdrive where I can't even register one though before another three take over. My eyes and nose hurt and I don't really know why, though my body threatens to spill tears.</p><p>This is what happens when I don't have a smoke for a few hours?</p><p>I don't want you to see this side of me. I do my best to keep a straight face and hide my hands in my pockets after you hand me the keys so you can't see them shake. "If you need help, you know where to find me if you need me," you say. "For now, I want to find out what's real and what's not."</p><p>"Fuck off," is how I respond. And my heart pounds harder against my ribs. I didn't mean that! I really don't want you to fuck off, even though I don't want you to see my vulnerability. I've never felt this way before and I'm terrified how bad it will become when you leave me. And yet I want you to leave quickly.</p><p>You shake your head with a sigh and walk away. I retreat to my own room, playing back my 'Fuck off' and assessing what kind of tone i said it in. Could I even recover and apologize for saying it? Or was it too harsh?</p><p>The hotel isn't as quiet as the car, but it's quiet enough to make me feel on edge for no reason. Without someone nearby to keep myself in check, I feel my senses collapsing in on me. I grab a cigarette and try to light it, but can barely hold the lighter with my badly shaking hands. And when I finally drop the lighter, I give up as numbness takes over my body.</p><p><em>'Just go to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning,' </em>I reason. <em>'Except my guard is down when I sleep. Anyone could take advantage of me.' </em>It takes effort and much talking and reasoning with myself that I should at least prepare for bed. The short walk to the bathroom knocks the wind out of me and no matter how much I try to calm down, I can't. I talk myself through brushing my teeth, but even that becomes a difficult task.</p><p>Once I'm laying down, things get a little easier for a few minutes. I listen to the clock on the wall, the metronomic tick lulling the tiredness through me. Yet hardly do I get a chance to relax before I hear your voice in my head.</p><p>
  <em>"You're lost. You've lied so long you don't know what's true or not."</em>
</p><p>Of course I know what's true, right? I created these lies. I know what I've done right and wrong. I know my father beat me. I know my mother abandoned me. How could I lie about that? I know that I had a caring aunt and uncle, even though both my parents were only children. Family doesn't end in blood, right? I remember how I got into fights at school, and how my best friend sometimes appeared out of thin air before me... that's completely normal... right..? I went to college... got a degree... or was it community college..? Did I even complete high school? I think my degree was in forensics... or was it..? I got a Masters... why don't I remember what it is..? I was married, I know that. Did we separate with an argument or was it peaceful..?</p><p>Maybe you're right...</p><p>Now I can't shut off my thoughts. Every bit of my life is being analyzed. The more I dig into my memories, the more I realize I can't separate lies and truths. I don't know how to. Each time I think there's a truth, my memory claims it to be a lie. And when I determine information as a lie, I remember it as a truth.</p><p>Two hours of laying in bed leaves me lightheaded and on the verge of being sick. My shoulders hurt terribly. I'm dying of thirst but can't remember where I stored the glasses. Self-soothing motions do nothing and I'm too disoriented to find my lighter. I can't get away from my pounding heart. I can't escape the thoughts that crush upon me.</p><p>And when I finally stumble to the bathroom in preparation of throwing up, I see myself in the mirror: I see a failure. A sobbing failure. And it's then I realize:</p><p>I don't know myself at all.</p><p>I'm consumed again by screaming thoughts as my body runs on autopilot. It's only when my thoughts break for a split second do I realize I'm standing before a door. Even worse, I'm knocking on it. I don't even know where I am. Do I have my room keys?</p><p>The door opens and I see you on the other side. You're sleep, but alert enough that you know to lower your 1911.</p><p>"Russell?"</p><p>I can't explain it. I can't explain why I'm here. Why I'm so desperate for comfort from another person when I know I'll only be disappointed again and again. I'm your superior. I'm supposed to be one reminding you to keep it professional.</p><p>"I need help."</p><p>You don't hesitate. You let me inside your room and sit me on your bed, taking a spot right next to me. "Can I hold your hand?" You ask. And I nod.</p><p>Even just that little bit of physical contact is enough for me to break. The numbness starts to draw away and guilt slowly replaces my racing thoughts as I think about all the lies I've told you. In the back of my head, I hear you narrating your moves, asking for permission and waiting for me to be sane enough to respond properly before enacting on them. You talk me into laying down on the bed with you, still only holding hands, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from your skin.</p><p>"Bell..." I finally manage to choke out. And I hear you hum in response. I want to tell you everything, all my thoughts and fears. I want to tell you so much about who I am and my life history, even if I don't know that answer. I want to tell you what you mean to me, how your smile and calming tone grounds me.</p><p>But I can't. I can't really speak at all. The only words I can force out are far from what I want to say, and it's a lie. "I'm so tired..."</p><p>It's a lie you understand. "I know," you say, giving my hand a squeeze.</p><p>I wish I had the energy to tell you how grateful I am that you see the truth, even in a liar. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had an anxiety attack recently while playing Call of Duty: Mobile, so this was more of a rant fic to keep me grounded. Adler's symptoms are loosely based off my own. </p><p>Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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